Best Waryellow Poems
I guessed that they called it mustard gas because of it,s yellow hue.
Once you got a mouthfull there was nothing you could do.
Your throat explodes,your lungs implode as your brain screams out for air.
You rip the skin off your windpipe but you don,t even care.
Where it touches your skin, it burns right in leaving blisters in it,s wake.
Your skin looks like it.s boiling, how much more can you take.
You can hear your brothers moaning, they.re in excrutiating pain.
Soon you find yourself praying, please God, make it rain.
The first raindrops do nothing, but as the gray clouds open up.
The water tastes refreshing, and you drink fram a porcelain cup.
By now the rain is pouring,you see yellow river.s in the sand.
The battlefield goes quiet, you look out over no mans land.
You can see your friends are crawlling now,back toward thier trench.
The air smells rank and putrid, truly an ungodly stench.
The battlefield goes silent now,the gas clouds wash away.
we clear the bodies from no mans land, now we,re ready for the day.
Dreams once hidden, now appeared,
dreams of an abandoned city,
distortions that mangled me
are my insolvable presentiments,
perhaps, they are just greetings
from hyenas in the night.
Oh, why I get them unbidden?
It's streets glided into each other
like lifeless labyrinths,
exhausting continuation or
logic of a lost place?
It's houses only waited
as numb, deaf witnesses,
while the sky was abundant of yellowish grey.
In the reality of anguish and trepidation,
yellow ashes were densely concentrated,
ghostly flux or enigma?
In the distance,
I heard tramps of a horse,
or is it another deception?
He is quiet,I am quiet,
sound of lie or life!
I am now his only comrade,
for we wandered through yellow ashes alone,
for we understood our prehistoric calls,
in this microcosm we are only brothers!
Odd set of eyes stared at me,
the most soulful eyes,I ever saw.
What are you trying to tell me,
when everything is already said?
Yellow fog frightened me,
bringing smell of Thanatos,
awaken conscience of executors in this Golgotha?
Executors and victims dance in yellow ashes
while conscience of the humankind
is withheld on the Balkan soil.